


I'm on My Knees in Fascination

by emdop



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, we die like queen calanthe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emdop/pseuds/emdop
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have to share a bed for the first time. Cue sexual tension.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 554





	1. I've Worn Out the World

**Author's Note:**

> The canon is the sandbox in which I play. Is it canon compliant? no. Is it historically accurate? no. Is it a thinly veiled excuse for smut? yes. 
> 
> Titles from Reflecting Light By Sam Phillips

Jaskier watches the Witcher walk along side Roach ahead of him, and if he happens to be savoring the view, then he can only be blamed for appreciating beauty. He drags his feet through the dusty roads of some nameless town, both pouting about the oppressive heat and the increasing possibility that this place won’t have a decent inn. Sweat gathers at the small of his back and any place his body bends which makes it feel like he’s a bog in a human suit. At least he doesn’t smell like one. Yet. What he wouldn’t do for a cool bath with scented soap. 

He’s still dreaming about soaps and oils when his forehead and shoulder collides with Geralt’s back. 

“Eh, you could’ve at least warned me,” Jaskier grumbles, swiping a hand over his damp forehead. 

“I did.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Patting Roach does not count as communicating with me.”

Geralt ignores his comment and nods toward the building they’ve just stopped in front of. “We’re here.”

Squinting in the afternoon sun, Jaskier takes in the two story wooden heap called The Getaway. He huffs. “Getting away from what? Prison?”

“What do you know of prison?” Geralt says, not asking so much as implying that Jaskier has no knowledge of cells with bars. He pulls Roach’s reins and walks the path to the inn’s rear where a sad stable stands. It leans to the left and looks like it’s spent a thousand summers baking, but it has shade and water, so it’ll have to do. 

“I’ll have you know that I know plenty,’ Jaskier says following him and Geralt gives him a side glance. “From stories. And personal accounts.” Jaskier continues chattering while Geralt cares for Roach. “Does experimenting with restraints count?”

Geralt gives him a deadpan look and runs a brush down Roach. 

“Guess not,” Jaskier shrugs, “What’d you think is the probability that they’ll have a bath? That low, huh.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s silence as a negative answer. “How can they call this a getaway without hot water? Although hot water may be more a torture at this point,” he concludes, wiping sweat from his upper lip.

The heat doesn’t seem to touch Geralt with the exception of his tense shoulders. His skin only has a slight dew to it that Jaskier prays for every night and creates with a rigid moisture routine. Jaskier’s eyes trace the few exposed spots of Geralt’s skin: the side of his face and neck and his hands. Those hands. They hold so much power, strength and yet can do the most delicate work. Heat curls through Jaskier’s body. Nope. Not going there. Jaskier swallows and looks toward the inn. 

Craving ale, Jaskier meanders along the path toward The Getaway’s the back entrance. The sun beats down on him and he gives up on preserving his aesthetic by removing his doublet. A decretive stone path curves through the grassy plain between the stable and the inn; Jaskier follows the unnecessarily windy path because what else does he have to do while he waits for Geralt to catch up with him? Not that Geralt would view that way. He’d say that Jaskier was wandering off and planting himself in danger. His thoughts hop through the many times Geralt has given him the “Please, stop” face. Jaskier chews on his lip, but reforms his face into a charming smile when he opens the door because first impression matter when you’re a bard. 

It’s dark inside and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, they reveal a bustling bar and dining area. Wooden tables and chairs clutter the open space, primarily occupied by people. Although there’s one in the far corner that’s available and Geralt will like. Jaskier struts to the bar where a stunning barmaid is wiping down the counter. She has soft features and jewel green eyes. 

Jakier rests his elbow on the bar and leans toward her with his best rogue smile. “Your finest ale, please.” 

She raises an eyebrow, taking in Jaskier’s appearance, then wordlessly pours a drink for him. He passes a coin to her and grips the ale, eager to wet his throat.

“Will you play tonight?” She asks, nodding to the lute slung over his shoulder. 

“If it comes with a little coin, then certainly.”

She smiles. “A bard who’s upfront about why he plays. I like it.”

Jaskier returns her smile. “Oh, fair lady, I do it for the stories, the glory, the music. Money merely gives me a place to rest my weary head.” He sips the ale and finds it a touch watery, but satisfying. 

She snorts. “And here I thought we understood each other.”

“I suppose that gives me the chance to know you then.”

She bites the corner of her mouth, thinking. “A place to rest your head you said?”

A shadow looms behind Jaskier and the barmaid’s face tenses for second before returning to her normal look. 

“Yes,” a gravely voice says. 

“Ah, Geralt,” Jaskier says, turning to face him then back to the barmaid. “What my companion here means to inquire about are a couple of rooms for the night.”

The barmaid winces. “I’m sorry, we only have one room available.”

“We’ll take it,” Geralt says. He throws a small pouch of coins toward the barmaid and she takes it, disappearing into a back room. 

Jaskier gapes at Geralt. “We’ll take it?”

“Yes that is what I said and paid for.”

Jaskier puts his hands up. “We’ve never shared a room.”

“I share the outside with you.” His brow furrows, clearly not understanding why Jaskier is making a fuss. 

"That’s not the same and you know it.”

Geralt huffs. 

“You didn’t even ask if there’s two beds in it. I’m not sleeping on the floor, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier lets the conversation drop and concentrates on removing the thoughts about the very real probability he’ll be sharing a bed with Geralt of Fucking Rivia tonight. 

The barmaid returns and hands Geralt a key and two clean towels. “Room is up the stairs. Third door on your right.”


	2. The Moon's Never Seen Me Before

Geralt takes the towels and key from the barmaid then stalks up the stairs with silent footsteps. Jaskier stares at his feet, desperate to figure out how he does that, because it seems impossible for someone of his size. For someone with boulders for shoulders and tree trunks for thighs. Jaskier would like to climb him. He wonders what it would be like to wrap his legs around those narrow hips and hold onto those broad shoulders for dear life while Geralt fucks him out of his mind. He bets he could make Geralt sweat. 

Jaskier shakes himself out of his thoughts and swallows a few mouthfuls of ale. With his focus back on the barmaid, he goes to restart their conversation, only she beats him to it. 

“Sorry for flirting earlier, I didn’t realize you were accounted for,” she says, drying clean mugs. 

Jaskier’s brain grinds to halt and puzzles over her conclusions until it realizes she’s waiting for a response. “Geralt and I aren’t a couple?” He says it like a question even thought it’s a fact. 

She scoffs. “Maybe you should tell him that then.”she nods toward the stairwell, indicating Geralt. 

He looks over this shoulder toward the empty, dark opening and then back at the barmaid who’s mouth drops. 

“You didn’t know,” she mutters in awed hushed tone. 

“What ever do you mean?” Jaskier asks, irritation leaking into his tone. What does she know about his and Geralt’s relationship? 

“Look,” She says, putting up her hands, “I call it like I see it. Maybe ya’ll aren’t romantic, but he sure as hell is protective of you.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes. “And how do you know that, master mind reader?” He puts his fingers to his temple, mocking. 

“Hardly,” she says, pouring a drink for another patron, “But I got the distinct impression that he’d use those swords to shut me up if I kept talking to you.”

Jaskier laughs, relieved. For second there, he thought she was miraculously picking up on Geralt’s feelings. “That’s just Geralt. You get used to it.”

“Sure,” she says and moves on to other customers. Jaskier shrugs and swivels to survey the crowd, judging if they’d be up for a few rousing songs. 

Geralt appears at his side, startling him, but he buries the surprise. “Geralt, my friend. You hungry?”

He gives a small nod and Jaskier waves another employee over, requesting two dinners. He stops Geralt from forking over more coin, paying it himself with the few left in his purse. Jaskier catches his apprehension. “You paid for the room, I can pay for dinner. We share our burdens.”

The muscles around Geralt’s golden eyes tighten and Jaskier feels as though Geralt is searching for something in his face, so he throws him a dazzling smile. Geralt blows out a breath, skeptical. 

“There’s a table over there,” Jaskier says, pointing to the empty corner seats, “Let’s go.”

Geralt sits with his back to the wall and Jaskier takes the place directly across from him. The chair speaks as he sits and makes Jaskier question if he should get another chair. He does not want to get up close and personal with the floor. 

“This reminds me of when we first met. Do you remember?” he says, waiting a millisecond for Geralt to respond. “What am I saying? Of course you do. I’m hard to forget.” He adds in a wink for good measure. 

“Much a like an itch in the center of my back,” Geralt responds, his voice monotone. The minuscule quirk in the corner of his mouth gives him away though.   
Jaskier gasps and puts an offended hand to his chest. Then he gets an idea, saying it out loud before thinking it through. “Then who better to scratch it than me?”

Silence descends upon their corner table while the implication of what Jaskier just said clouds both of their minds. Jaskier’s cheeks flush and clears his throat. “What do you think they’ll have for dinner? I do hope they have good bread.”

“So, you can put it in your pants?”

Jaskier laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll never live that down. What put you in such a good mood?”

“There’s a tub with water upstairs.”

“Really?” Delight runs through Jaskier’s veins, “That is exciting.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums while the food arrives. 

Tonight’s dinner consists of a hearty salmon fillet and a scoop of peas. No bread. Damn, but compared to ration jerky and granola, it’s a feast. They eat in relative silence while Jaskier hums ballads to his food. Geralt stares at him, his gaze even and unrelenting. 

“What? Something on my face?” Jaskier asks, pawing at his mouth and cheeks. 

“I’m trying to remember if you’re always this annoying while you eat.”

Jaskier reaches toward Geralt’s hand resting on the table, giving it a tap. “Please, you love it.”

Geralt’s left eyebrow twitches. 

Jaskier pushes the last fourth of the salmon toward Geralt, feigning fullness because he knows Geralt needs the extra food but will never take it out his volition. He’ll simply convince one of the lovely patrons to buy him a drink and fill the emptiness with ale. He doesn’t want to share Geralt’s bed sober tonight anyway. Pining is way too painful to do without a buzz. 

He throws back the rest of his ale and leaves his wobbly chair. “It’s time to earn my keep.” Jaskier ignores Geralt furrowed brow and starts plucking a few notes on his lute while he struts to the crowed center of the tavern. He picks up the tempo as the patron start to notice his playing, nodding along to the familiar folk song. He looses himself in the music and the performance. The pleasant sting of the strings underneath his fingers and the rapt eyes of the crowd keep him going. He delves into a few saucier songs revving the audience and encouraging them to laugh at the dirty puns and blush at the careful innuendoes. Jaskier twirls around the room, collecting coin and smiles until he reaches his and Geralt’s table. Jaskier blinks and forgets the next line when he makes eye contact with the Witcher. He stayed. Jaskier’s heart warms and squeezes. 

A drunk stumbles into Jaskier, pushing him straight into Geralt’s lap. Strong hands hold him tight and keep him from tumbling onto the floor. This close to him, Jaskier gets a strong whiff of leather, horse, and a wonderful woodsy scent that’s as much a part of Geralt as his white hair. Heat spikes anywhere Geralt touches him, which is everywhere at this point and he can’t keep his body from reacting. His cock twitches in interest and his mouth dries. Jaskier looks up at Geralt with his baby blues wide with surprise and he watches Geralt throw a piercing cold gaze at the drunkard before he scampers off. Geralt focuses his attention on Jaskier. That gorgeous mouth so close to his own. If only he could close the small distance between them. 

“You okay? Your heart is beating fast.”

“Yeah, um, he surprised me is all. I, uh, should get back to my eager audience.” He swallows his disappointment when Geralt releases him and the heat that once covered his skin vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see anything specific in this fic lemme know


	3. I Rode the Pain Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Geralt's POV. I promise the next chapter will have alll the smut in it.   
> Also, I know nothing about caring for a horse, so I guessed, my apologies if I butchered it. I didn't feel like researching for such a small part of this fic and we all know we're here for the sex so...

Geralt controls his breath, sucking and releasing air more than usual in attempt to keep his body temp from skyrocketing. He’d never admit it but the hair and the wardrobe were deliberate choices not made by convenience or utility. He simply liked them, but right now he’d like to cut off his hair and strip naked; decency laws be damned. 

Behind him, he can hear the bard shuffling and the whining in his head. Somehow, Jaskier was loud even when he wasn’t speaking. Geralt’s uncanny ability to know when eyes are on him spikes and knows Jaskier is staring at him. Jaskier’s quietest moments happen when he’s staring at him and Geralt doesn’t understand why. What is going on in that ridiculous brain? 

He searches for an inn. Roach needs a break from the heat and he needs a bath, although by the looks of this town, it’ll be a basin of warm water and a modest cloth. It’ll be good enough for him. Jaskier won’t be happy though. There may be some mint leaves left over in his supplies that Jaskier can use and he might get one of those soft smiles out of him. Up ahead, he spies a sign with the words “The Getaway” on it and he’s willing to assume that it’s exactly what he’s looking for. 

He catches a few weary stares from the townsfolk, fortunately they appear more willing to mind their own business than throw rocks at him. The Witcher and the bard near their destination and Roach huffs. Geralt pats her to let her know they’ll be stopping soon. He stops moving and goes to alert Jaskier that they’ve found an inn when Jaskier rams his head straight into Geralt shoulder blade. He gets a whiff of Jaskier: the day’s sweat and his orange peal and cinnamon oil he dabs on this wrists and neck some mornings. Geralt has to let his mind go blank while Jaskier grumbles and wipes his forehead. 

Catching the end of his complaining, Geralt responds “I did.” Jaskier takes responsibility for the conversation, rambling as Geralt leads Roach to the stable. It’s under cared for and could use some better structural support. He eyes the beams and roof and deems it good enough for the night. Geralt wonders at what he would do to fix the leaning problem, only to truncate the thought because Jaskier’s waiting for a response. He throws the bard a skeptical look and returns his attention to Roach, supplying her with water, some oats, and a good brushing. Geralt can sense Jaskier’s impatient energy building and before long, he wanders toward the inn. 

Geralt watches Jaskier meander through the grassy field between the inn and the stable, noticing the way his hips dip and rise with each step. His feet and shoulders in rhythm with each other. Jaskier moves so easily through the world and a tiny part of Geralt wishes he could share that trait. Roach grunts. 

“Don’t judge me,” he says to her. “I have to keep that bastard safe.” 

Roach turns her head toward him. 

Geralt sighs. “Yeah, I know he’s survived this world longer without me than with me. I just…I just,” Geralt attempts to say the thing that’s been swirling in his gut out loud. It’s harder than he thought it would be. Roach patiently waits for him. He gazes at his hands. “I can’t be the reason he dies.” The words come out in a whisper and the echoes of people shouting and sound of metal ripping through skin ring loud in his head. Geralt switches off his thoughts and goes about his regular routine with Roach and a few extra chores. He checks her hooves, ridding them of extra dirt and grass then moves on to evaluating her eyes and mouth.

Not ready to face the noise of the tavern, he decides to take stock of his potions. All of them are in their correct spot and ready to use. He digs through spare ingredients, noting that he’ll need to restock many of them in the next city. Finally finding the mint he thought of earlier, he tucks the leaves into his waistband. He knows he could put them in a pocket in his pack, only a primal part of him hopes if Jaskier decides to use the mint leaves, his skin will smell just a touch like him. Geralt questions this desire, but finds himself unwilling to undo the action. So, he takes off to find Jaskier. 

Inside, the haziness looms and Geralt’s eyes are quick to adjust. A fair amount of patrons mill around the tables and a few stand by the bar and that’s where he finds Jaskier, leaning in to talk with the barmaid. A light blush forms on her cheeks and curiosity spreads on her face. A thrumming heat rushes through Geralt’s chest. He stalks through the room, ignoring the double takes and quiet gasps. 

“A place to rest your head you said,” the barmaid says, biting her lip. The need to rip a head off a body makes his hands clench.

“Yes,” he barks. They do need a place to stay after all, but this fair-haired woman doesn’t need to be the one providing the bed for Jaskier. They go through the usual room negotiations and he only slows down when he notices Jaskier’s open mouth, clearly he’s done something outside the social norm. 

“We’ll take it?”

“Yes that is what I said and paid for.” These are basic concepts and Geralt has never known Jaskier to be simple.

Jaskier puts his hands up. “We’ve never shared a room.” 

Oh. They’ve been traveling together for weeks and they sleep near each other all the time; what difference does having four walls surrounding them make?

“I share the outside with you.” His brow furrows, trying to compute Jaskier’s protests. 

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

Geralt huffs. He supposes in a technical sense that’s true. 

“You didn’t even ask if there’s two beds in it. I’m not sleeping on the floor, Geralt.”

Oh. It’s not the room that’s the problem, it’s the bed. Geralt imagines what it would be like to share Jaskier’s space. To have his lithe body pressed against his own and his arms holding his bard close. “Hmm.”

Before Geralt knows it they’re eating dinner on Jaskier’s dime and another wave of unknown emotion grips him. We share our burdens, he had said. The words curl through his mind and softness edges inside. He can’t remember the last time someone wanted to treat him like a fixture in their life. His interactions are always so temporary, but Jaskier is something else. Persistent and gentle. Caring. 

“This reminds me of when we first met. Do you remember?” Jaskier rambles, waiting a millisecond for Geralt to respond. “What am I saying? Of course you do. I’m hard to forget.” He wink at him and Geralt’s mouth dries, which only makes him want to rile the bard up.

“Much a like an itch in the center of my back,” Geralt says, refraining from making the jest a clear joke, but the small twitch of his mouth happens anyway. Jaskier’s gasp was too easy to draw from him and yet Geralt still feels satisfied at having done it. 

“Then who better to scratch it than me?”

Scratch? Geralt would much rather he rake his nails down his back. Jaskier’s tight heat would only encourage him to keep claiming him. Blood drains into his groin and Geralt adjust his pants relive the pressure.

Jaskier’s cheeks flush and clears his throat. “What do you think they’ll have for dinner? I do hope they have good bread.”

The mention of bread drags Geralt back to some of the first words Jaskier spoke to him and he joins in the reminiscing from earlier before he can stop his traitorous mouth. “So, you can put it in your pants?”

Jaskier laughs and the sound sinks into Geralt’s skin, warming it. If smiles came easy to Geralt, this would be a moment he’d smile. Jaskier asks him why he’s in a good mood and this time he’s able to keep his mouth from blurting the truth and supplies him with an answer when he remembers what’s waiting for them upstairs. A bath. A real one. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely a lie; baths are luxury Geralt knows how to cherish.

They finish their meal with the regular bickering and Jaskier handing off the unfinished food to Geralt. He wonders if Jaskier is truly always full when he does this or if it’s another way Jaskier shows he cares. Geralt doesn’t know what else to do except eat the food. 

Soon, Jaskier’s left the table to rouse the patrons into giving away their coin for entertainment. Typically, Geralt leaves to start preparing for the next day, but today, he’s comfortable where he’s sitting and stays. Geralt studies him. The way the light hits his cheekbones and those cherry blossom lips while they sing beautiful notes. Geralt doesn’t know much about beauty, but there’s something angelic about Jaskier’s voice. Although he’d never tell him that because then he’d never get his blessed silence. 

Jaskier runs through songs, working the audience with ease and Geralt admires the skill in hyping everyone’s attention, using the tensions and releases of his songs to keep listeners rapt. Jaskier makes his way around the room and pauses when he returns to their table and finds Geralt still sitting where he left him. A softness fills Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt revels in being the one to cause it. 

Geralt is too caught up in the blue of Jaskier’s eyes to notice the stumbling drunk coming straight for the spot where Jaskier’s standing. He collides into Jaskier, effectively sending Jaskier toward the ground. Only he lands on Geralt first and Geralt’s arms keep him from tumbling further. The weight of Jaskier’s body feels good against him and fire sparks across his skin. The back of Geralt’s throat almost purrs, but he shoves it down in favor of sending a murderous glare at the drunkard who caused this accident. 

He looks down at the wide eyes Jaskier aims at Geralt that do funny things to the rhythm of his slow heart beat. Geralt wants to tighten his grip and arrange Jaskier’s legs so they straddle his hips. He wonders what Jaskier would look like with his head thrown back and his neck exposed, moaning and grinding his hips into Geralt’s lap. Then his ears catch the erratic rhythm of Jaskier’s heart and worry strikes through Geralt’s fantasy. 

“Are you okay? Your heart is beating fast.”

Jaskier stutters and mumbles something about just being surprised and needing to get back to his audience. Way too soon, he leaves his arms and Geralt’s instincts tell him to reach back out and pull him close. Surprised at the need coursing through him, Geralt lets the distance between himself and Jaskier widen.   
A fact he has neglected to mention about their room wiggles through his mind and he wonders if he’ll get to feel that addictive heat again.


	4. Reflecting Light

Jaskier walks ahead of Geralt up the stairs toward their room. His heart pounds and with a thick swallow, he reaches the third door on the left. 

“Maybe, I should play one more song.” He goes to move past Geralt toward the stairs again, but Geralt catches him by his shirt. 

“We have an early day tomorrow, bard.” Geralt uses the key to open the door and steps inside, leaving it open for Jaskier to follow in after him. 

Jaskier pauses in the doorway, taking in one very clear fact. There is only one bed. And not a big one. It stands in the center of the back wall with a plain wood headboard. Beside it is a small nightstand with a single drawer and that concludes the entirety of the furniture in the room aside from the tin tub. Jaskier closes the door behind him and pretends everything is normal. A few supplies that Geralt brought up at some point during his performing gather near the tub and Jaskier decides to rifle through his stuff to find something to do. He hears the jangling of Geralt removing his armor and lets his eyes rise to take in the broad shoulders. 

Geralt’s back is toward him and Jaskier continues to make noise like he’s still searching for something, so hopefully Geralt won’t notice the staring. Guilt swirls through Jaskier’s gut, but he knows that if the Witcher truly felt threatened by him, he’d be dead already. Geralt hands work fast, letting armor drop to the floor. Jaskier’s only seen him sans armor a few times and it’s revelation each time. The gods gifted Geralt of Rivia. In only his black shirt and leather pants, he turns to face Jaskier and raises a brow at Jaskier already looking. 

“I have something for you,” he says, holding out a small cloth pouch. Jaskier takes it from his hand like it’s made of glass and looks inside to find a handful of green leaves. 

“Mint,” Jaskier says, glancing at Geralt, wondering if he’s trying to tell him his breath smells. 

Geralt looks at the floor then releases the full power of his yellow gaze on Jaskier. “You like things that smell good. Thought you could use them somehow. Up to you.”

Jaskier’s eyes dampen and he holds the pouch to his chest. “Thank you, Geralt.” He throws him a smile. He fishes the pestle and mortar from Geralt’s supplies and grabs a few leaves to crush then adds a few drop of his citrus perfume. He mixes it all together and takes a whiff. That smells mouth wateringly good, so he takes an empty bottle and pours the new mixture into it. Proud of his creation he looks up to make Geralt smell it and his eyes find the sight of Geralt’s bare chest. 

The expanse of fair skin is enough to stop Jaskier’s thoughts but the sparse hair and collection of scars make him freeze in place. Geralt pulls at the ties of his pants and works them off, so he’s merely in his smalls. 

“Unless you want a show,” Geralt says, pointing out that Jaskier is staring at him undressing and he’s about to be very naked. 

Jaskier leans back on his elbows and admires Geralt from the ground. “And what if I do?”

Geralt hums, turns to the side and drop his smalls, then steps into the tub, sinking down into it. The brief flash of partial nudity is burned into Jaskier’s mind. He replays the last four seconds over and over again until all he can do is lay flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The curve of Geralt’s ass leading to his powerful thighs. The sharpness of his hip bone and the dented line leading to his groin. Jaskier only caught flashes of color of his cock and his mouth waters still. He imagines what it would be like to take him into his mouth and enjoy the stretch of opening wide to accommodate him. He’d sink until Geralt would hit the back of his throat, then he’d come up, hallowing his cheek and tonguing that sensitive spot under the head. Jaskier would do this over and over again until the Witcher would spill in his mouth. He wonders what he would taste like. His cock fills with interest, but Jaskier’s attention diverts when the sounds of Geralt bathing interrupt his daydreaming. He stays sprawled out on the floor and listens, willing his dick to calm. 

Soon Geralt is out with a towel wrapped around his waist. “You can use the bath if you like. The water’s not too dirty.”

Jaskier nods and strips while Geralt dresses on the opposite side of the room. Silence lingers, heavy and long during the quickest bath of Jaskier’s life. When he’s as clean as he can get considering the meager resources, he dries quickly and slips into a clean pair of smalls. He debates on dressing into more clothes, but the heat makes that sound abhorrent. Hopefully Geralt won’t mind. No doubt he won’t say anything.

Geralt is already laying in the bed with a thin sheet draping over his body. Jaskier wants to study the way the sheet molds to him, only he realizes there’s another problem. 

“I don’t think we’ll both fit in this bed,” he speculates, eyeing the minimal open space. 

Geralt rolls onto his side, facing way from Jaskier and toward the door. “It’ll be fine. Just try to get some sleep.”

Jaskier sighs and lifts the sheet, attempting to keep to the very edge of the bed while also trying to lay down. He slips and his back hits Geralt’s and he mutters a sorry then tries again, only for it to end with them somehow just as close. He squirms and squirms, but every move ends with him touching another part of Geralt and at this point Jaskier’s body is warm with want. 

“Stop moving,” Geralt grumbles. 

“I can’t get comfortable,” Jaskier admits and leaves out that it’s in part due to the semi-hardness of his cock. 

Wordlessly and almost soundlessly, the witcher turns to face Jaskier and pulls him tight to him. His chest molds to his back and their legs fit perfectly. Bare skin on bare skin shakes Jaskier to his core and his breath is stolen from him. Geralt may look good, but he feels even better. An arm drapes heavy over his middle and Jaskier can’t help but lean into him, their hips aligning. 

“There we fit. Now quit your bitching and sleep,” Geralt grumbles. 

Offended and ready to pick a fight, Jaskier responds. “Do I have to be the little spoon? It’s like being suffocated by furnace.”

A low growl of irritation rumbles through Geralt’s chest and he mumbles a fine. His hands grip Jaskier’s hips and he rocks them in order to flip their positions, only Jaskier’s body interprets the motion and new friction as the beginnings of a really good time. Precum drips from his cock and a short gaspy moan escapes Jaskier before he can suppress it. 

All movement ceases.

“”Hmm. Seems that you actually like being the little spoon,” Geralt teases. 

“It’s not my favorite position,” Jaskier refutes. 

Bending his head so his mouth is close to Jaskier’s ear. “Tell me, what is?”

A hot shiver runs up Jaskier’s spine and goosebumps spread over his arms and neck. With Geralt’s hands still on his hips, confidence spikes in Jaskier. “It’s better if I show you.”

Their eyes meet, testing whether the other is on the same page. Their matching wide pupils gives Jaskier the permission he craves to lead Geralt where he wants him. 

“Get on your knees and take me with you.”

With ease and only one adjustment, Jaskier’s back remains with Geralt’s chest, but now he’s sitting in his lap, giving Geralt full access to his neck. Jaskier leans his head onto Geralt’s shoulder. Their breaths come in heavy pants and every one of Jaskier’s fantasies are proven true given the large hot length pressed against Jaskier’s ass. He arches into him and they start a give and take rhythm until Geralt slows them down.

“I like this,” he says, his voice even more gravely than normal. “Want to know mine?”

Jaskier doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he breaths.

“Lay on your back.”

Jaskier follows instruction and waits for more only they don’t come. Geralt places his hands on either side of him and he hovers over him. 

“Really?” Jaskier almost laughs. “It’s so vanilla.”

Geralt smirks. “Not when I do it.” He leans down and his teeth just barely nip at Jaskier’s neck and ear. “Wanna find out why?”

Jaskier’s knees go weak. “Are you trying to bed me, Geralt of Rivia?” He teases, threading a hand through his silk white hair. 

“Was I not being obvious enough?”

Jaskier tightens his grip in Geralt hair, “Maybe, I need to hear you say it.”

“Jaskier, I want to do more than just bed you. I want you screaming my name while I fuck into that tight little ass of yours and when you’re begging to come, I’ll give you an orgasm so good, you’ll realize no one else can touch you like I can.”

Jaskier’s cock twitches and he has to take a few breaths to keep himself from cumming in his underwear like a teenager. “You do tease me, dear witcher.”

“It’s not a tease if it’s a promise.”

Jaskier’s heart flutters. “Kiss me.”

“Gladly,” Geralt answers, pressing their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped you enjoyed this little chapter! Your comments and kudos keep me going and I'm blown away at the response to this fic. Thank you!! oh, and there's more smut to come.


	5. My Dark Heart Lit Up the Skies

Geralt starts slow and soft. Jaskier wants to consume him and he licks at the seam of Geralt’s mouth. Getting the message, Geralt lets him inside, then takes over. He gets rougher with him, guiding Jaskier’s mouth where he wants it, and teasing with his tongue. Uhnnnggg, Jaskier’s mind flatlines and wonders where Geralt learned to do that. He pauses their kissing to nibble at Jaskier’s bottom lip. 

“Do you know how you taste?” Geralt murmurs into Jaskier’s skin. “It’s intoxicating.” He nips, bites, and lick his way down Jaskier’s neck and to his collar bone. He drops his hips to rut against Jaskier, slotting their cocks together. A real moan comes from Jaskier and it only makes him more desperate to get that last bit of clothing off Geralt. 

“I need you naked,” Geralt says, while pressing kisses down Jaskier’s chest and stomach. He dips his hand into the waistband of Jaskier’s smalls, but Jaskier pauses him. 

“These come off when yours do,” he says. 

Geralt huffs a laugh. He sits up on his knees and slinks off the end of the bed, standing straight. Geralt drops the last of his clothing with little ceremony as if there isn’t something prize worthy hidden in there. Saliva cotes Jaskier’s mouth while he takes in Geralt’s size. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Jaskier whispers, dropping back onto the bed ready for Geralt to climb over him again. 

“What’s that, Bard?” Geralt asks, his voice further away than Jaskier expects. He hears some rustling near their packs, then Geralt’s warmth returns.

“Where’d you go?”

“To get some oil.” He shakes the tiny bottle between two fingers.

“Oh, good.” Jaskier makes a mental note to stock up on oil because there’s no way he won’t want this every fucking day. 

“What’s ridiculous?” 

The question returns him to thoughts of Geralt’s cock and a deep blush covers his cheeks. “You heard that?”

“Of course I did,” Geralt smirks, “I don’t know if you know this but Witchers have exceptional hearing.”

Jaskier runs a thumb over the shell of Geralt’s ear. “I never would have guessed,” he says, suppressing the need to roll his eyes. “Now, where were we.”

“If I suck your cock, will you tell me about how you got that pretty little blush,” Geralt says. He continues his careful descent from earlier, dropping kisses every few inches. He gets to his hips then stops and looks up at Jaskier. 

Jaskier sighs and forces the embarrassing words out. “Your cock is ridiculous. No man should have a cock that beautiful. It’s unfair to the rest of us.”

“You flatter me,” Geralt says with a proud little smirk. His fingers run along the top of Jaskier’s smalls. “Can I show you what I think of yours?”

The lust swirling in Geralt’s eyes forces the breath out of Jaskier and a squeaky, eager yes falls out his mouth. In one swift movement Jaskier is completely naked and on display for Geralt. He’s never felt so vulnerable and so safe.

Geralt sucks at his inner thigh, leaving little red welts in its path until he gets where Jaskier wants him most. He licks from Jaskier’s perineum to the top of his cock, then flicks his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. Geralt takes him into his hot, wet mouth, which makes Jaskier want to squeeze his legs together and pull Geralt’s hair—make sure that he stays, because gods above, Jaskier has never felt anything like it. Jaskier threads his fingers through the softest white hair, doing his best to remain otherwise still. Geralt swallows him down like he’s never heard of a gag reflex. Jaskier moans, arches his back, and his eyes roll back in his head. Heaven is Geralt’s mouth. 

“Yes, that’s so good,” Jaskier breathes, “You’re so good to me, baby.”

Geralt pulls off him. “Baby?”

“Don’t like that?” Jaskier asks, then thinks, a little sluggishly since his dick is so fucking hard right now. “What about love?”

“You could say my name,” Geralt suggests, dipping his head to kiss Jaskier’s hips.

“Oh, I plan on saying your name many times,” he responds with a smile. 

Geralt hides a smile under a gruff noise and returns to making Jaskier writhe. He twirls his tongue around Jaskier’s head, then sinks to the base and works his throat, leaving Jaskier to grip the sheets tight. Jaskier’s chest expands and contracts with each heavy breath and his heart races.

“Uh, Geralt, if you want this to last longer, perhaps you shouldn’t do that again,” he admits. 

Geralt pauses his ministrations to slowly jack his hand up and down Jaskier’s cock. “You should cum down my throat.”

Jaskier’s body goes limp. “You’ll be the death of me.”

An almost inaudible snicker comes from Geralt and without warning the suffocating, intoxicating heat is back. Geralt pulls his lips tight around Jaskier’s prick and presses his tongue against him while he moves up and down.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier borderline shouts, “Geralt, please.”

Geralt keeps his hand around him, working in tandem with his mouth. Then he uses his other hand to gently fondle Jaskier’s balls. Sensitive and overwhelmed, Jaskier repeats Geralt’s name over and over. His whole body tighten and shakes, squirming, both trying to escape the onslaught and delve itself further into Geralt’s mouth, needing him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier moans, “I’m so close.”

The bastard stops and Jaskier whines. “Look at me,” Geralt says and Jaskier obeys, chasing his release, “I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come apart on my tongue.”

Jaskier’s chest heaves, his skin flush and his eyes half-lidded, despite his best attempts to keep them open all the way. Geralt returns to his full efforts and the sight of those stunning golden eyes and that beautiful, fuckable mouth sucking his cock is enough to have Jaskier going over the edge. He spills into Geralt, whiting out through the most intense parts of the orgasm. 

Boneless and breathless, Jaskier sprawls limp across the mattress while Geralt takes care of the remaining mess on Jaskier, licking him clean. Geralt’s hands massage his legs, hips and his ribs, slowly returning to Jaskier. An overwhelming warmth spreads through him, making his spent cock attempt to twitch in interest. 

Soon, Jaskier can hold Geralt’s face in his hands and kiss him. Quick kisses linger between them until they dissolve into open-mouthed, sloppy ones. Jaskier can taste himself on Geralt and that has his blood pumping again. 

Pausing for air, Jaskier says, “You have to let me return the favor tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” Geralt asks, his voice plain with curiosity. 

Jaskier gives him his best mischievous smile. “Because I have more exciting things planned for tonight.”

"Tell me about them,” he says between kisses. 

“First,” Jaskier starts, “We need to find that oil so you can open me up for that massive cock of yours.”

Geralt produces the bottle of oil out of nowhere, coating his finger in it and trailing them down Jaskier until they meet his opening. He teases and swirls a finger around the rim. “Like this?”

“Mmm,” Jaskier agrees, “yes.” He closes his eyes enjoying the sensation and having Geralt close. He takes a deep breath, consuming the woodsy smell that never leaves Geralt. 

Geralt slips a finger inside. He keeps a steady pace, making sure Jaskier’s nice and comfortable before adding another finger. Geralt curls his fingers hitting that good spot inside Jaskier and soon Geralt has reduced Jaskier to a mewling, bucking puddle of alighted nerves. 

“Your fingers feel incredible inside me,” Jaskier says, peppering Geralt’s neck with wet kisses, “Can’t wait for your cock. It’s gonna feel so good stretching me, filling me.”

A low growl rumbles through Geralt’s chest and his pace doubles. With a third finger inside him, Geralt works him open. His muscles clench around Geralt’s skillful fingers, desperate to have them inside. 

“Yes, Geralt, fuck, yes,” Jaskier rambles then focuses his mind. “Fuck me. I’m ready—so ready to feel you inside me.”

Geralt withdraws his hand and aligns their hips and with a few quick strokes of oil to his cock, he’s teasing at Jaskier’s entrance. He pushes inside dreadfully slow, easing his head past the tight ring of muscle. Inch by inch he settles into Jaskier until his hips meet his ass. “Oh, Geralt, mmm, fuck, so good,” Jaskier babbles unable to make complete thoughts. He digs his fingers into Geralt’s ass, the muscle stiff under his hands, yet so grabable. “Move, please.”

Geralt snaps his hips, setting an even rough pace. Jaskier’s whole body feels alight and wonderful and ready to burst into a million lights. The drag of Geralt’s big cock inside him only makes him want more and so he tries to meet Geralt’s thrusts. He gets the message and goes faster. 

“You’re so tight and hot,” Geralt growls, tightening his grip on Jaskier. “I want all of you.”

Jaskier moves his hands and arms to wrap around Geralt’s middle, hooking his legs to drape over Geralt’s hips. “Then take all of me.”

Geralt shifts to his knees and pulls him upward to sit on his lap, not stopping the thorough pounding. Jaskier drapes his arms over Geralt’s wonderfully broad shoulders. 

“Ride me,” Geralt says, his voice gritty with want. 

Jaskier clenches around Geralt’s cock at the sound and rocks his hips. He feels the depth to which Geralt is inside and savors the stretch and fullness. So good. Jaskier’s cock leaks precum, smearing across Geralt's stomach. 

“Turn me around,” Jaskier says. The ease with which Geralt slings him around has him wobbly and very interested in what else Geralt can do in bed. He sinks down on Geralt’s cock and the new angle hits every sensitive spot. Moaning and leaning into Geralt’s body, Jaskier hooks an arm over his head and behind Geralt’s. His fingers bury themselves into Geralt’s hair and give a little tug. Geralt shudders then punishes Jaskier with a good pounding. The sound of the bed creaking and squeaking and the wet slap of skin fills the room. 

Jaskier’s breath comes in hard pants and a moan lands when Geralt sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He continues leaving love bites, eventually getting them to more and more visible spots. 

“You’re right,” Geralt says, “This is a great position.” 

Jaskier laughs, “I’m right a lot.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts. He swings Jaskier onto his back so he’s pinned underneath the Witcher. Geralt swirls his hips, so his cock catches a thousand sensational nerves in Jaskier’s body. He alternates between this slower movement and a hard fucking. The combo makes Jaskier’s gut tighten and when Geralt wraps a large hand around his prick, he know he’s done for. 

In a low voice, Geralt says, “Come for me.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier screams at climax and holds tight to him. “Fuck.” Cum stripes his own stomach and Geralt’s hand and chest. Hazy and marvelously high, Jaskier breathes heavily and floats down to reality again. Then he realizes a hard prick is still inside him. 

“How have you not come yet?” Jaskier asks, curious, but also a little worried he’s not living up to the hype. 

Geralt shrugs. “Witcher stamina.”

“So, nothing to do with me?” he says in a small voice. 

Geralt cups Jaskier’s face, “If it was entirely up to my cock, I would’ve come the second I was inside you.”

Jaskier smiles, comforted. “Then do it. Come in me.”

The smallest gasp exits Geralt and he holds Jaskier close, fucking him good and slow, so every inch of his cock makes itself known. 

“Mmm that’s so fucking good,” Jaskier says, ignoring the extra sensitivity from orgasming. “Come in me, Geralt.”

With a few more thrusts and a grunt, Geralt spills into Jaskier. He pulls out and collapses beside Jaskier, both of their breaths uneven and bodies satiated. Jaskier notices the sheen of sweat on Geralt’s chest and smiles to himself; he did indeed make the Witcher sweat. They remain close to one another, hands clasped together until Geralt summons the energy to get a damp towel and clean them both. His touch is gentle and the cool water feels good on Jaskier’s heated skin. It’s intimate and quiet and Jaskier’s mind is peaceful. Once Geralt returns to bed, he curls against his chest, their legs tangled. 

“I’d like to do that many times,” Jaskier breaks the silence. 

Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Me too.”

Jaskier snuggles into him and they stay cuddled through the night, even as they both find a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! I welcome all the comments and if there's something you'd like me to write let me know!!


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